These poets are in love!
First epic poem for two
I like to touch your osso buco and your
billy beard. I know by heart the curling
hairs and the marrow I suck down nightly,
your old man nipple and the hip hop heart
you try to hide beneath that cool jazz veneer.
We are too beautiful and we'll take our
shit to Bremen Street; we'll flagrante delicto
(Stacia M. Fleegal)
and if my tattoos could impersonate
Gaga, they'd bossily, saucily say
let's have some fun, this beat's my dub,
I wanna take a ride on your billy club.
I'm so glad you're done fucking
around with that Dickinson chick--isn't
she a lesbian? Come
enjoy the company of a woman
whose clothes are already off.
Kimmie, your stuff's better than Emily
or any BAP poem I've selected. It's
tight & wet & sings the blues about love
& cigarettes every time I enter it.
No one ever asks how many angels
you'll understand the aerodynamics of
rotten rhubarb and radicchio. Talk about wet
and singing the blues. Don't worry, I'll
unbutton the top three and distract
the mob--but now you owe me. Blurb me,
oh yeah, right there.
Your Virgils guiding you through the rings of over-sexed poets,
Ry & Stacia